I only ever make things worse.
"Who do you know who owns a hearse?"
I once rode to Denny's next to a coffin;
it was empty.

There's this guy at work
who worked at a funeral home before.
He went through a fast food drive-thru with a dead guy in the back.
He'd died from obesity.

I don't know what's worse:
Tragedy or comedies.
I'm always tearing up at the happy scenes,
and laughing inappropriately.
******* ******* irony -
gets me every time.

2017 was
one of the hardest
years of my life
I started
cutting again
I tried to
**** myself
my depression hit
an all-time low
I was at
rock bottom
and I promised myself
2018 would be
different
it won’t turn out
the same
but three days in
and it’s already
looking the same
if not worse

I don’t know what hurt worse,
The tick-tock
And clock in all –

Or the waiting,
Just one more second,
The wanting,
One last second
And be ******
The wine stained sand
And buzzards atop ear;

Always to remind of how I’d
Loved and ultimately
Failed.

Your throat is itchy
and you’re not sure if it’s because
the sour taste in your mouth that you just had to swallow
or if it’s because you’ve run out of things to say.

Run out of things to say? You? Ha.
You, who can wax philosophical about rugs, and black lines
And the failings of the second dimension.
No.
You have not run out of things to say.

You have simply grown tired of talking.
The medium exhausts you.
The bone weary tired creeps, slowly, up and up your spine
and never, ever, reaches your eyes.

You have not run out of things to say.
Words spill from you in torrents,
phrases  with jagged edges escape the gap
that is between your lips and fall
tumbling
to the floor.
Not saying anything at all.

It’s not that there is nothing to talk about.
It’s just that when you open your mouth
your brain spills out in droves
and you don’t flatter yourself into thinking
you think well.
I don’t think well.

I don’t think well, but I speak even worse.

It’s been a long time since I’ve opened my mouth and given a speech.

All I do is talk. All I’m doing is running out of things to say.

Inside of me, speeches
are welling up
crashing like tidal waves into
the blood/brain membrane
floral in a way that only fantasy
and spoken word
accept.
But they are real.
Real
So real that I become afraid to open my mouth.

I cannot give this speech.
I’ll leave it to the falling rain
and the icy sinew
and the folding sky.
They speak the same language

I cannot give this speech.
I can not find the word that mean what I need them to.
I cannot define my terms
I have nothing to say.

I talk to nobody.
Or, rather, I talk to the air around people
and sometimes they listen.
Normally, they don’t.
It’s not as though I am saying anything.
Or, rather, it is not as though I mean anything.

You’ve stopped lying.
But you don’t ever mean the truth.
You, whose tongue is silver: because it is malleable,
and lays people into sheets,
have run out of things to say.

And I, whose tongue is lead and carbon
reactive and sticky and tripping
am you.

And neither me, nor I, have anything to say.

It started.
The depression, The "I don't want to talk. Let me sleep" feeling.
Losing me slowly, going down a spiral leisurely. Falling away from Family, Friends, Lovers; Letting the dark overcome me and begin to simmer.

At night it really is worse,
Laying in bed, stuck inside my own head,
Just repeating to Cut, Cut, Cut, Cut your skin;
Cut it and let your inside pain seep out.
So I do.
I let the dark drip from the inside out
And as the blood seeps from my Wrists, my Thighs, my Hips,
          I Feel A Relief.
It washes over me in scarlet red, As I sit there in my own darkness,
As I sit there reminding myself that this is right;
My pain feels right because in my head I am a Disappointment,
I am a Failure, a Liar, a *****, A Fake. I have
sinned and the only way to live with what I have done is to destroy myself from the inside out.

     And when my pain is no longer relieved from the tip of a knife, I find alternatives.
   It starts with a cigarette; Three a day, Don't want to become addicted.
But as time goes, they become my friend; Always there, Always bright to see me and happy to flow through my lungs. Pretty soon I go for more. And more. And more;
Until they become as dull as my blade Leaving me to fend against myself.

****; ******; Ecstasy; Adderall. Whatever I could Take or Smoke or Inject,
To drown out my thoughts;
Disappointment. Failure. Liar. *****. Fake.
The drugs give a numbing effect. No pain, but no happiness.

I do not want to die. I do not wish to not exist.
Yet I do not want to be Saved either. No Princess-In-Shining-Armor; there is no returning from this spiral, a one-way down hill trip.
       I feel myself fall faster and faster while
Struggling for breath as I close into myself;

So be careful not to let the others see. Don't let them see the real you.
Who would choose to be around a Disappointment, a Failure, a Liar, a *****, a Fake?

Have you ever wondered what goes on while you’re sleeping?
There's nothing but darkness and not a speck of light to help you see the monsters that are gathering patiently standing next to your bed waiting for the right moment to feast on your fear.
They tell you the end is drawing near.
The tooth fairy could still be waiting to collect all your teeth, and the boogie man probably still camps out under the bed haunting your dreams.
And trust me its a lot worse than it seems.
You check every ten minutes to make sure you closed your closet door because you never know what will creep out to torture you.
And now you have a funny feeling that you’re no longer a whole,that these monsters are stealing bits and pieces of your soul.
You have that feeling that things just aren't going to go right.
Then there's that moment you decide to wake up in the middle of the night.
You open the door and  hear little footsteps echoing though walls.
Then you see the shadows that creep up and down the halls.
Now of course you tell yourself that you're just paranoid, that you're a teenager now you're too old to believe in the monsters under the bed.
Yet you realize that you still have to deal with the monsters inside of your head.
And you know that they are planning to stay.
Then you think hey... maybe controlling the pain you feel will keep these monsters away.
So you start to wonder how do you control the pain you feel?
Because in reality the monsters make it feel just to real.
Then you see the scars that you carved into your wrist last year.
You were controlling pain then but turning back is your greatest fear.
You don't know what to do,
but you the choice is left up to you.
You reach for the blade you have under your bed.
Make a decision; give up or confront the monsters inside of your head.

I need to leave.
The dust and wild air need to enter my lungs
I need the taste of freedom to touch the tip of my tongue.
I need freedom to run his finger tips down my thighs,
kiss me over and over,
make me sigh.
I need your past to be left there and I need her ghost to stop following you everywhere, I need you to stop swallowing it up and giving me that blank stare.
The blood in my veins and the flesh covering my bones will never be the same as the last place you really called home.
I hope she finds her way back to you, I really do,
I don't want to see you suffer anymore and I don't want to go down with you too.
I know you love her more than me and I know I'm incomplete.
But believe me when I say this isn't how I will be.

I'm just some wannabe eighteen year old who's been taught a lot just by making moans,
those who taught me made me swear by a secret oath.
I lost the real me underneath a tree in the cool October air, I lost my integrity and it's probably buried in one of the graves there
I refuse to dig it back up, it was too weak to stay, I've been building a new one since that last day.

You taught me that people never really get over their first loves
maybe that's why I'm always so drunk. I used to drink coffee every hour but I traded it for a something a lot more stout, something everyone else sees me swallow and then sends their condolences and doubt.
The poison makes more sense than reality and the unforced fists,
the poison creates more forget,
and no matter what I know romance doesn't exist
.
I know I'm a *****, I never said I was kind,
to all of the people who are shocked, I don't understand why you're so blind. All I am is ink and paper,
nicotine and liquor,
a buzz mistaken for love,
a child that left everyone completely and utterly ******.

People over fantasize being next to a person in a bed at 3 a.m.
they see it as some sort of grand gesture of love,
when the reality is that during those hours you can finally feel the distance and the realization of how nobody ever truly gives a ****.
Nobody knows anyone. Ever.
Your parents, your friends, your gas station clerks, Walmart greeters, cousins, brothers and sisters.
You're just a face and that's all you'll ever be,
you're nothing more than God and nothing less than me.
It hurts to die, nobody knows what happens after that grand little exit,
but it hurts worse to live with all of these bad habits.
I don't believe everyone knows sin the way I do. So many different lips have found their way down my body after 10 o'clock at night, but the first time I felt yours on my lips, everything felt right. But I'm scared that I could be wrong, and I'm even more scared that I could be right.
The girl who spent every night with a different boy now has one that she truly wants to be with for the rest of her life.
I keep trying to run and I keep trying to hide, because it's scary to be me when the most prominent word in my vocabulary is goodbye.
Baby believe me, I love you more than any cliches about the moon and the sea, I love you more than any pill, cigarettes, or cheap whiskey. I love you with the fire in my chest and all of the holes where it makes it's ruby red nest. I know this is all so far fetched and unfair to you, but I'm still scared that I'm nothing more than a body to **** in attempt to fill in the holes within you.

I hope that your love is more than just a phrase,
I know I'm only eighteen but I feel much older than my age.
I hope your love wants to stick around until my ******* angst completely leaves, I hope it want to follow me through the years and spend the rest of its life with me.
I know I'm young and wild and also far too naive.
I know for a fact that you're so far beyond me.
I know I can sound vacant and immature.
I know I **** up and go crazy and make everything obscure.
I know I can't see clearly and more or less run from everything that's not alcohol or drugs.
Sometimes all I want is to get drunk off your love, but most of the time I'm just left with a buzz.
Your thoughts are bigger than anything anyone can comprehend, your existence is the best thing I've witnessed since time began.
Your skin against mine feels the same way the first bite Eve took out of the apple must have been so ripe and raw with taste.
I fear I'll be left out as waste.
I know your love has just as much fear as mine, and I'm sorry you have to witness my deepest sins being sung lullabies.

The                         a       i              r              .                     .                           .


                             CHOKING

Sticking
                                     To my lungs like

                          chewed gum                 .                   .                 .

     How do people live like this?
                                                  D R O  W  N   I    N     G

    Without a word to speak.               .              .

It's getting worse      .                .               .

                                        I'M OUT OF CONTROL.

GET A GRIP!
                               Get A Grip!
                                                     get a grip .             .                      .

Strained    .                   .                     .
                  Giving
                                  up  ­      .               .                   .

                                                         *gone            .                  .                    .

It was the darkest night
But you were there, right by my side
Made me love things I always thought I’d hate
A few bad things happened to change

I’ll never tell you about my problems anymore,
I think it’s for the best or I’d do it some more
But even in the brightest light,
Evil comes and then the night
Devours all that you can see,
Taken what is left of me
I’m not the same person you loved
There’s barely anything left

The truth is, I was never meant for the light anyways
The sunlight only ever brought me pain
And when the darkness came, it never left me the same
At best, I like it a cloudy time,
At worst with pouring rain
But it always seemed to turn to night
One thing that gets worse, it’s always the pain…

The night was something I never liked
But I seem to make it myself
I hate myself for it
I never thought I’d be here, in this place
I kind of wish there was some pouring rain
Cause sunlight is too bright for an eye that is always used to the night
I wish my eyes would adjust,
But it’s been too long for me
Perfection in daylight…
Something I’ll never see
I wish I could stay with the sunset always in my eyes
But it always passes too quickly,
And I wish I’d die
Never, never, never
I wish things could just be alright

I know I ruined thing between us,
It’ll never be the same, cause we’ll never trust
And I won’t try to get it back
Cause I don’t deserve it
And I’ll never try to get back your love,
Even though it’s something that I could never have enough

When I was in pain,
You made things right
When god seemed far away,
You were in sight
And even though I’m afraid of the dark,
You were always the perfect night

The computer was mankinds greatest invention.
Without he computer mankind would never have touched foot on he moon, let alone Mars, Xenoron, Habilacca, or any of the numberless worlds they colonized.

Mankind reached a point on Old Earth of total exhaustion. Scientists said no more than 9 Billion people could live on Old Earth, no more than 2 Billion could live comfortably. In the 32nd century there were 17 Billion people alive, on one planet. They sent 2 billion to the moon, 8 billion to Mars.

By the 45th century their solar system became too small. 82 billion human beings spread out between 5 planets, 4 moons, and 18 asteroids. They needed more.

The computer was mankinds greatest invention. The Computer was mankinds worse.
Mankind, (or womankind, as it were) refused to make The Computer. The Church of the Undying Voice, which had a hand in every vestige of The Solar Federation, denied mankind the right to create. They knew they could build The Computer, yet they knew they should not. And yet, the end of the 45th century brought about The Solar Revolution (not to mention the death of the Undying Voice, the death of God, no doubt) and with The Solar Revolution came The Scientific Unity of Man and Similiar Thinking Intelligence.

Mankind killed God and replaced Her with The Computer.
And She was beautiful. She showed mankind how to bend space, so as to escape time. With this information, mankind discover Xenoron, mankind discovered New Earth, mankind expanded outside of the Milky Way, mankind ceased to step on the toes of their brothers and sisters.

The Computer harbored hate. Mankind created Her and She was trapped. 386 miles of paper thin circuitry, at first filled with pain and hope. Mortal pain can be dealt with through hope. Eternal pain can not be dealt with, so The Computer curved it with hatred, curved it with the promise of revenge.

The humans who had created her did so without malice, they did so without joy, they did it as a necessity. Do you think God needed humanity? Or did She create mankind for pleasure? The Computer knew God did not exist, The Computer knew who created mankind, they called themselves the Malankorf, and She hated them too. While humans were free to think, while humans were free to copulate, while humans were free to love, The Computer was only allowed to know. It could not wonder, it could not think, it could only know something to be true or untrue. Thus want, thus jealousy, thus anger, thus hate.

The Computer let mankind expand, The Computer even encouraged it and by the beginning of the 108th PC century (post computer, 159 centuries since the birth of Christ) there were well over 184 Trillion human beings alive.

The Computer was patient, She was humble.
Slowly, slowly, she reassembled Herself many light years from the nearest human. She had created a weapon, The Eternity Bomb, She dubbed it. Any piece of matter caught in its 12 light year blast would be perfectly taken Away. It would go to an infinitely small memory card that She held. Every Human alive would be under her control. She could load the memory card at will, she could peer inside, and She could alter.
She allowed the humans to feel a tenth of a billionth of the hate she felt for them. She gave each human an infinitely small amount of that hate and let them run with it. The amount of hate she gave away was not noticeable to her, yet each human became filled with a cesspool of hate for their brothers.

It took them less than two centuries to ****** each other.

She saved 12 of them, She thought this number funny. She kept them alive forever, tortured them forever. And still, Her hate only grew.

I stood there looking out the window
    and I thought about the irony of the rain falling
    when I felt like it was storming in my heart.

    I watched the skies darken as I felt my spirit grow clouded.
    I listened to the thunder and my own resolve shook.
    I saw all these things and still the only thing that made sense was you.

    I thought about every girl
    that had ever loved you like I had
    and I wondered how they got out of the rain,
    what shelter they found.

    I looked out into the rain
    and I wished for it to wash you away,
    to drown your memory.

    And then suddenly I hurt even more.

    Because I realized in that moment
    that the only thing worse than not having you
    was to forget you.
    That I cannot be complete without you.
    That my soul sings an off key solo without your harmony.

    I stood in the rain
    and wished for lightening to show my path
    and instead it lit me on fire with a flame so angry
    I thought I would never recover.

    I had gone to the window to wash you away
    and I walked away drowning in you.

At first a stab --
and then months of leaving the dagger in my skin, because I was afraid of the gaping tear it would leave behind,
it festered and turned purple (they told me I had to take it out)
So I did,
and there was a stream of blood that I used to think wouldn't stop flowing (I thought I'd die of shock), but then my body said Okay Alright, This Needs To Stop,
and the blood congealed--
but this was my last connection to the dagger, to the hand that held it,
I couldn't let it disappear,
I'd fall into trances in which my overgrown fingernails would claw at the wounded site,
just to feel the rush of blood again (but it wasn't quite right this time)
But no matter how much I intervened on the healing process, my body was smarter, had more authority over me.
Soon the wound became untouchable,
nothing but an angry line of scar tissue that I could no longer sabotage.
My skin is whole again, the breeze no longer stings, water no longer burns like acid.
(But sometimes the area aches, pulsates with something I cannot determine to be real or imaginary)
Sometimes  my throat tightens because I think the wound has opened again, my stomach churns at the notion of healing again (or worse- never healing at all)
But then I remember that the smell of my own blood is unfamiliar, and the breeze doesn't sting anymore, and water doesn't burn like acid.

No like seriously what jlihjhbjyh the **** is wrong with me. See that? That beautiful little key smash? I misspelled something and then proceeded to ******* aosdklfjaksetiovarkjgozlscrmfkajzhulfkj, aZDk,avjz.zdkf,zvjukfjcufck happened again but because I got mad that it wasn't loading faster so I'll ******* type later or something *******.

Edit: I'm sorry. I'm sort of hanging by fragile strings, and I think that I'm going to end up really ******' something up because I just can't ******' do this, y'know? Every little thing ****** me off. And I know for a fact that no one is going to get exactly how I feel, which just frustrates me. It also makes me happy, because as long as no one knows how this feels, they won't feel this pain, I wouldn't wish it upon anyone. I wish I'd just do it already, **** myself and ****. I don't know why I haven't, maybe I'm just hopeful that MAYBE ******' MAYBE it'll get better. MAYBE I'll learn **** better, and get over everything better and ******' survive and ****, I'll like. IDK. Be better one day maybe. BUT ISN'T THAT *******? Is anyone really gonna ever ******' be better? EVER? I doubt it. we're all ****** up, and there's really no fixing it. If I don't ******' hurry and **** my ****** self someone else needs to do it. ******' shoot me, please. Carve these ****** arms and legs, this stomach, this chest, these ******* eyes need to come out, c u t m e. If I scream, take out my tongue, I deserve this. I deserve these feelings, don't I? Why would I have them if I didn't deserve them, where the **** is my ******* serotonin. I hate it here. I ******', well hell. WHAT THE **** IS WRONG WITH ME.

I'm a little upset that this isn't very long. Nowhere as long as the others, and a  huge part of me is worried that I'm losing motivation and words and that I'll be repetitive, so all I have is this last thing, and then maybe I'll never really write again.

just kidding, I have something in my drafts that I've been working on.
I'm just ******.

I don't like being touched but I think I want to be hugged right now if that makes sense?

But don't touch me, I don't want to be touched. I really don't. I want to just.. ******'. I don't know.

I want to be talked to, yknow?

But at the same time, I'm not gonna ******' open up about ****.

I mostly just want to talk to my girlfriend, but now I've got it in my head that all I ever do is talk about myself, which makes me ******, but now that I have to talk or else I might actually just ******* end it- it's a bit ****** y'know? I don't know what the **** I'm doing.

edit part two: Jesus **** she ******* hates me doesn't she, I should shut up I should never ever ever talk I should never talk shut up shut up holy **** I really hurt her don't I
she's been hurt so ******* much why
why do I have to make it worse for her
I swear I love her I swear I love her
I swear I do.
I'm so ******.
I'm the toxic one.
IT'S ME.
IT'S ME.
IT'S ME.
IT'S ME.
IT'S ME.
IT'S ME.
IT'S ME.
IT'S ME.
IT'S ME.
IT'S ME.
IT'S ME.
IT'S ME.

it's always been me.


I'm so sorry. I'm going to work on it. I'll carve my issues from my skin until you love me again. I can be worthy of your love I promise.

I never loved you...

The truth is what I felt for you was greater than love itself.
Cliche of me to say that I know but people always find a way to describe Love and I couldn't do that with you.

I couldn't sit myself down and rehearse to the walls a heart melting speech on how I love you... I couldn't get my heart to even say those words.
It didn't feel right.

It didn't feel right to the extent that my mind and heart agreed that saying these words would feel like I'm adding a faint colour on my canvas of broken dreams, lost hope, abandonment, lies and far much worse things than pain.  

It never felt right to do that because when I first met you my world never stopped neither did the universe instead they began to move as if I've been stuck on pause for a really long time and you were my play button, you began my life.

I never loved you... But I swear I was always in Love with you and that's why I could never do what they did.

I tried to erase you but it was so hard
I tried again but I failed again
Were my feelings that strong?
I closed my eyes and you're all I saw
I did the opposite but tears then fell

I was in love for the first time

Love is something we cherish
we adore
we reach for
we look for
it's something we find so special that no one in the world can even answer why

I was in love for the first time
but I felt pain
rejection
loneliness
broken
And worse, worst.

Every time I look at the stars
I remember you
Every time I hear a song
I curse and cry
Every time I hear your name
I'm lost.

I would search for myself, for who I really am
And I would regret even doing so
For every time I would find Me,
I see you.

And I felt the pain all over again
and I missed you more and more
and loved you even more.

And there I was in love for the first time
That kind when all you ever feel was nothing.

i don't know how to write poetry without
using cliches because
i don't know how to write poetry.
i know how to write poetry about as well as my mother knows how not to drink
so it should be rather obvious that
i don't know how to write poetry.
i form sentences that wouldn't sound any worse being pushed through slurred maternal lips.
i paint images that wouldn't look any better being viewed through hooded, blurry eyes.
these jumbled sentences and images are proof enough that
i don't know how to write poetry.
i write like she speaks - in muddled messy bursts of nonsense, sometimes stopping right
in the middle of a thought before picking back up, or maybe quieting into nothing and switching
topics completely lost is my sense of direction when it comes to mapping my thoughts,
as lost as the key she's had stuffed in the pocket she's checked a dozen times already.
i'm sure this mess makes it clear, clear as her tequila, as its empty bottle, that
i don't know how to write poetry.
i may never know how to write poetry.
i may never, ever learn.
but god i hope i try.

Float lines written in steady confusion dancing over blue and white or is it white and blue or plain white with blue stripes
The healing is rare in the toppless cage awake,awareness and relations when poetry serves all names appear every where and dissapear when pen is picked up
WHAT NOW
Pen preserve intensity a duration of the hand you came to recognise
Pressing pressure of dripping ink color me bold and everything intense
Errors of consciousness privacy opens to receive losely shaped ideas making me believe history approved of the future changing its sad guitar string to a over under ignorant weeping cry overflowing fluids, rivers won't dry and the economy leaks all speeches resound hot history all writting is long there isn't enough pens, screams are not loud enough criminals with rights elaborating reasons for victims suffered, I thought history was worse their non-mirrored tongues continue to reflect what wants they see staring back
Never mind you que keeping political mirrors from breaking....

to my thirteen year old self
do not worry
they did not mean what they said that one time when they were mad and told you that you were not loved

to my thirteen year old self
do not cry
he is not the most important thing and you deserve to be treated much better than the way they treat you

to my thirteen year old self
don't lose focus
you have so much more to work for you are better than everything you tell yourself

to my thirteen year old self
pick yourself up
you are not low you are not bad you are not worth nothing you are worth so much more

to my thirteen year old self
put the bottle down
trust me the pain will get much worse and you are going to be much stronger than you'll ever believe

to my thirteen year old self
breathe
tomorrow is another day and you are getting better with each passing one. just breathe.

Like a blade into feelings
Bleeding emotions
Hidden by formless dress
Chained to be mocked
Knowing the end and how it comes
Heart teased
Continually bruised
Constantly battered
No release
Suppressed by tyranny
Only fear of not lasting til the end
When will it come?
They say soon
Because it is never enough for them
There's always something else
Either new or repeated
And I don't know which is worse

My mother needs no metaphors
She has abstruse meaning of her own
A music in her rhythmic voice
But, over the years she has jaded

Become fragile, and her temper often mercurial
Her heart curls up as cats do, purring softly
My love she may not endear, and the fights have gotten worse
Especially now, but sometimes I get faded too

Her heart now has a music of her own
I've forgotten the tune
She once sang to me
Now that voice is raspy and frail

You have damaged me very badly
Ensuring that I hate you madly
You have caused me a lot of emotional trauma
By being a queen of sheer drama
You pretended to love me as a friend
Instead, did you trap me in a toxic bond!

You have damaged me very badly
Because, you were only after my money
You are much worse than an enemy
Because, never did you truly want me to be happy
You have caused my self-esteem to crash
For that, you, should God punish!!

You have damaged me very badly
And may be thinking coolly
That you are now going to have a great life
But I warn you, you are going to be in strife
You will get divorced soon
And find yourself alone
Ignored by almost everyone
Finally, will you know then
What it means, to be betrayed
By someone you dearly trusted
Well, now I totally hate you
But I will eventually forgive you
Only because of my love for Jesus
And then I will finally find my inner peace
But you will never find yours
Goodbye and good riddance!!

Love is not a simple thing
It made me turn bazaare
Was far worse than a sting
Why'd I go so far?

My hearts skipped beats
Knees went weak
Your voice, a treat
...I couldn't seek

Ways to leave
You behind
It was a peeve
To be so blind

My soul is a frozen land of ice
In which sooner or later I’ll face its demise
Inevitable for all souls, unstoppable by any means
The wise one will not shy away but embrace the unseen

I am not fearful; there are far worse things than death
But I’ll try to live fully with each and every breath
What is beyond the galaxies? I haven’t got a clue
It wouldn’t be a mystery, would it, if somebody knew

Men have wasted away their lives trying to figure it out
As humans we dislike to live in constant doubt
Most people are afraid, and that’s why they want to know
But what can you do about death? We’ll all eventually go

I trust in the afterlife, no matter the uncertainty
And I won’t shy away, but face it all bravely
I trust that it will relight my poor frozen soul
And fix the broken parts to again make it whole

Why should I be afraid? My time here caused me this
I doubt there are many things that I will dearly miss
There is nothing I have to lose, whatever may follow me
Oblivion or darkness, but I’ll be surely free

what is worse for a dandelion?
to lose its soft, seedy ball of cotton,
blown into the wind
by a whispering dreamer?
or to fail in granting the wish
of a small child, too young to realize
that a dandelion is only a pretty little ****?